My Favourite Toy
by michael1812
Summary: Set somewhere in S4, episode 'Slack Tide', Dexter fears for his apartment now he lets the still recovering Deb move in. They share a cold one and a good, heartfelt talk.


I feel so...violated.  
I try to think of nothing else but the insides of my pockets, where my hands are stirring now.  
There's my wallet, filled with money--what else?--and pictures of my loving family, like severed heads in a jar, pressing down on my hand.  
Then there's my keys, car keys, house keys, lab keys, all neatly pressed together in a bundle, but now they're missing a friend.  
Of course I had to give him up; Deb could hardly move in here without it, but my apartment feels different now all my stuff isn't here.  
It feels...empty.  
Another life is about to move in here, yet today the apartment still lingers in transition.  
Deb will tear this place apart of course, desecrate my holiest hideout.  
The one place I could call home after Harry died.  
But better her than someone else. Some stranger that'll live in my home.  
The thought disturbs me more than I thought it would.  
If they'd only known there used to be a serial killer living here, then its market value would've plummeted instantly.  
This place would be a bargain.  
But they won't find any blood here.  
I've always kept it clean and tidy.

"So what'd you think?" Deb asks me and I take a deep breath.  
I pretend to look around, as if I hadn't seen all the changes the moment I walked through the front door.  
"You haven't...changed much." I said. "You haven't changed it at all."  
Deb lifts a garbage bag from the floor.  
It was light, but she still reached for her wound after bending over.  
She probably found the bags in the cupboard underneath the kitchen sink.  
"You forget." she says to me. "I used to live here too, you know. I kind of like it the way it is."  
"I didn't forget." I said to her when she passed me by with the garbage bag. "I just thought you might want to..."  
"What?" she says looking directly into my eyes.  
She knows I hate it when she does that.  
I pretend to look around again as I search for words.  
"Well, I mean...the couch." I said, and I walked over to it. "It's old."  
Deb looks at me as if she didn't know what I was talking about.  
"You want me to throw it out?"  
"Yes. No. Only if you want to."  
"Fuck, Dex. I only just moved in. You expected me to start redecorating?"  
"No!"  
Well, yes, actually.  
"Are you afraid I'm going to turn your old bachelor pad into some kind of girl shrine?"  
What?  
"Don't worry, brother."  
I wasn't reassured, and she saw this as she took a gulp of her newly opened cold beer.  
"I'm not going to ruin your precious, fucking apartment, Dex!" she said slamming the bottle on the counter.  
"How long have you known me? Besides, it's my place now. I can do with it whatever I fucking want."  
"Of course," I conceded. "I know that. And I'm okay with it."  
"You sure?"  
Another deep breath and I nod softly, but am I okay with it?  
"Yeah."  
It's like someone took away my favourite toy. I can still borrow it sometimes, but it's not the same. Not the same at all.  
This apartment has been the only place where I could be myself, where I could take off the mask and disconnect myself from all worldly worries.  
But the airconditioning unit is empty now.  
I've got to get out of here.

"Where'd you think you're going?" Deb says. "I've got a whole crate of beer waiting between my legs. I thought we could celebrate."  
"You want to celebrate getting shot?"  
"No!"  
She put her hand down on the counter just a little too hard.  
Does she want to drown her sorrow with alcohol?  
Or does she simply can't stand being alone right now?  
Her first night in my old place.  
Maybe it doesn't feel right without me here.  
Maybe it does miss me.  
"If anything I'm still alive, right?" she said, unconvincingly. "Of course, you've probably got stuff to do anyway. You've got Rita and the kids..."  
"No, you're right. I should be here." I tell her. "Call it a passing of the torch."  
I could tell she liked that analogy as she passed me a beer.  
"We should totally get hammered." she said smiling and I raise my eyebrows.  
"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you drunk before, like ever."  
"I've had my moments." I say, leaning on the counter like a professional drunk.  
"But we both have work tomorrow. We have to get up early."  
"Life's a bitch." Deb says, jokingly, but I know she isn't joking.  
I nod.  
"Tell me about it."

In times when I longed for human connection, Deb has always been there for me.  
She almost makes me feel...human.  
Out of all the roles I've played in my life, boyfriend, husband, father, I've enjoyed this one the most.  
Brother.  
"We should do more of this stuff." she says to me.  
She has to be clearer than that.  
"What stuff?"  
"This. Brother-sister stuff. I do need something to balance all the shit out, you know?"  
"Everybody needs a hobby."  
"Shut up." she says, punching my shoulder just a little too hard. "You know what I'm talking about."  
"Of course I do. And I'm here. I'm always here."  
She smiles and nods.  
"And you're going to be all right." I add.  
"Thank you. I'm glad you're here, Dexter. I mean it."  
I smile back.  
"Don't forget about me, with Rita and the kids and your house..."  
"I won't." I say truthfully, gazing directly into her eyes.  
"Besides, how could I? My shoulder will never recover from all your punches."  
She punches my shoulder, almost causing me to spill my beer.  
It's great to see her laugh again.  
"You know what," I say to her after finishing the beer. "I'm glad it's you that's moving in here."  
"It's fucking destiny!" she adds, and I have to agree.  
It's fucking destiny.


End file.
